


Fall Apart

by Make_It_Worse



Series: Brat Tamer [7]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Anal Sex, Bdsm etiquette, Bottom Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Dom Hank Anderson, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Possessive Sex, Starting Over, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: This is part of an ongoing D/s series. Heed the tags.Part 7.__Apologies aren't always enough to heal deep wounds.





	Fall Apart

Connor had forgotten how bone-shattering orgasms could be—at least when Anderson was the one producing them.

He'd also forgotten how badly he could fall apart afterward if he tried to put on a brave face. Anderson was good at taking care of him, but sometimes Connor needed more. In the lonely, angry months spent apart, Connor had forgotten how to ask for it.

It's how he finds himself alone in the kitchen at 4:37am while Anderson sleeps blissfully unaware. Biting into the sleeve of his most comfortable sweatshirt, he tries to silence the sobs racking his body.

He knows he should tell Anderson. He should wake him.

He can't.

It's ridiculous, he knows. It's not healthy or fair for him to pretend he's fine when he's not, but, after nearly a year of separation, Connor's insecurities had multiplied. Partially because of how things ended and partially because of where they are now.

He doesn't want Anderson to perceive him as weak, not that the man had ever given voice to any such thoughts. Still, doubt nags at Connor, encouraging him to grin and bear it until Anderson is asleep and he can seek refuge in solitude.

"Connor?" He hadn't heard Anderson exit his room or enter the kitchen and he nearly jumps out of his skin. "What are you doing?"

"H-Hank! I'm—Nothing. Had a dream. Go back to bed; I'll be there in a minute." He tells the lie with practiced ease, only stumbling a bit over his name.

At the sound of shuffling feet, Connor lets his head fall back and tears disappear into the hair at his temples. There's no reason to be this upset—he's dropped before—but he can't shake the feelings of shame, inadequacy, and fear.

A light clicking into life in his peripheral nearly makes him startle out of his seat. Anderson offers no explanation as he sets a giant, glowing flashlight on the counter. If there has to be light, at least it is mercifully dim.

Large hands rest on his shoulders and Anderson's thumbs run broad stripes up the base of Connor's neck, "You're not a very good liar."

Connor's insides freeze and he tries to turn. Anderson's grip on his neck keeps him firmly in place and the man makes soft shushing sounds.

"I think we need to talk," he says quietly as he rubs at the tension lingering beneath Connor's skin. To underscore his point, he wipes at a tear tracking down Connor's face. Connor exhales a shuddering breath and nods. He knows Anderson isn't going to let this go. The knot in his chest loosens slightly at the reminder that Anderson does care.

The slight swell of Anderson's stomach presses against the back of Connor's head, "Wait here."

His fingers tense against Connor in a promise to return. When he comes back, he envelopes Connor in a soft, plush blanket. Pressing a kiss to his head, he turns away to bustle around the kitchen. It's too dim to make out what he's doing, but water boils and a kettle whistles in short order. With the clinking of spoons against porcelain mugs, Connor curls in on himself when he smells the familiar aroma of hot cocoa.

The last time he'd had it was in this very house and a hysterical sound bubbles out of his chest. He doesn't remember getting up out of the chair, but he finds himself in Anderson's lap all the same, still wrapped tight.

Anderson lets him cry, holding him close without pressing him for answers just yet. He waits until Connor's tears fade into hiccups before speaking, "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me?"

Connor's resolve cracks at the endearment. Anderson is rarely this soft and he wonders how badly off he must look to inspire this level of gentle care.

Connor shakes his head, "It's stupid."

"I doubt that," Anderson says mildly, "not if it has you this upset."

Connor's hands shake as he reaches for the cocoa to buy himself some time. The half-melted remains of miniature marshmallows coat the surface and cling to his mouth as he takes a sip.

"I can't believe you still have this," Connor motions at the drink in his hands. Anderson was _not_ a hot cocoa kind of man.

Anderson gives a small shrug, "When you first left, I didn't know what to do with it all."

"I didn't leave you; you pushed me away," Connor says without thinking, wearing a heavy frown.

"You're right," Anderson admits easily enough. "When I realized what I'd done, I couldn't throw it away. I'd hoped..." he fades off, clearing his throat.

"I wanted you to come back," he says after a few moments of silence and Connor's heart unclenches by a few degrees.

When Anderson falls silent again, Connor knows the question is coming, "Connor, why are you out here alone in the dark? What do you need?"

Once he starts talking, he can't seem to stop. The words come fast and heavy. Every worry that he's not enough, the Anderson will send him away again, unravels on his tongue. Anderson lets him talk without interruption as Connor exposes his battered heart.

"I'm sorry," Connor finishes lamely, feeling more ridiculous with every word he'd spoken.

"You haven't done anything to apologize for," Anderson murmurs into his hair. "My clumsy handling made you feel this way. You don't need to take on the responsibility for my mistakes."

"I hurt you," Anderson continues, "and damaged your trust. I ask a lot of you." He breaks off to stroke at Connor's face, "Maybe it's too soon."

Connor whispers a horrified "No," misunderstanding Anderson's meaning.

Shushing him softly, he clarifies, "I don't want to push you. I don't want to find you crying alone in the kitchen in the middle of the night. I need you to be open and honest."

Connor tries to argue, but it's a perfunctory attempt.

Anderson holds him tighter as if afraid Connor will vanish, "You put your trust in my hands and I fumbled it badly. That takes time to repair."

"I don't know how to fix it," Connor whispers into Anderson's neck. The final fear laid bare.

For a heartbeat, Connor thinks this is it, that they're too badly broken to put back together.

Panic threatens to consume him like a shroud until Anderson speaks, "We talk like we are now. We make adjustments. We take things slow."

Connor lets out a tightly held breath, "How do you know it will work?"

He can hear Anderson's smile in his words, "In case you hadn't noticed, we are both stubborn people. I don't think there's much that can stop us if we both want something."

Anderson falls silent for a few moments before asking, "Do you want this, Connor?"

"Yes," Connor's answer is firm and resolute. He knows in his bones there's nowhere else he'd rather be than here in Anderson's arms. The realization helps drive away his doubts.

"Good," Anderson's voice comes out gruff, "because I'm not keen on the idea of letting you go."

"You want me?" Connor asks, voice small.

His skin grows warm at Anderson's answer, "More than anything. Whatever it takes."

He sits up to give Anderson a questioning look when he hears the man chuckle.

Anderson shakes his head, "Besides, you're an absolute terror. Someone has to keep you in check." Connor tries to act outraged at the comment, but a poorly concealed laugh mars the effect. Anderson lets him finish his cocoa before taking him back to their bed. Spooning around him, he holds Connor close through the remainder of the night.

True to his word, they take things at a slower pace, rebuilding Connor's faith in Anderson's intentions. Anderson lets Connor take the lead in the bedroom, mirroring him without pushing for more. The speed is more relaxed and basic than either has engaged each other in before.

It takes about a month for Connor to grow antsy. It's another week before he realizes what he's after. He wants Anderson's commanding presence and demanding attention. He wants to fall apart in his hands, to be consumed and revered. He wants Anderson to wreck him and rebuild him.

When Anderson returns from a particularly boring day of conferences, Connor's waiting for him in the living room. Naked beneath a thin silk robe, he calls out, "How was your day, _sir_?"

Anderson freezes in the kitchen at the title and tone. Turning slowly, he arches an eyebrow as he takes in Connor's attire, "Unremarkable until now."

Connor approaches languidly, running his hands up Anderson's chest before molding his body against him. Looking up through long lashes, Connor murmurs, "I think I can help with that."

There isn't a single part of Connor's body that doesn't burn with desire at the look Anderson gives him, "How so?"

Shouldering out of the robe, it puddles at their feet. Feeling more confident than he has in over a year, Connor meets Anderson's eyes, "Take me to bed. I want to see how many ways you can make me scream."

Anderson takes him apart in the safety of their room. He whispers every filthy thing he's going to do to him, building him up to the brink of intolerable longing.

Frantic with need, Connor comes with a shriek beneath Anderson's smoldering gaze. Anderson rocks into him, fucking him through it, "You are mine. Every inch of you." Connor sobs at the words, overwhelmed but complete.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake)


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